


The Witcher of Palmetto

by borky



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, sir andrew of palmetto & sorcerer neil of baltimore are destined for eternal love fight me, there's so much angst for this au i wouldn't know where to begin so have this. for now, to be fair I started reading the books don't come for me, yes I've watched the witcher on netflix in one day I'm one of THOSE in the fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borky/pseuds/borky
Summary: “It’s a vest,” Neil crosses his arms almost defensively. “A corset vest,”“Is it comfortable?”“Comfort isn’t my priority.”“How many birds had to die for those feathers around your neck?”“Witcher…”“Is it easy to take off?” Andrew inquires, face a stone but his eyes are dancing with fire, daring it to burn him.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 31
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

“Andrew. It’s been a long time,” Neil calls out, leaning against the tree with his back, watching the white haired man approach slowly on his horse. He’s dressed in dark grey armor with only light coverage, which meant his fighting style has not changed since last time. Andrew wasn’t worried about taking hits, he wanted to be fast enough to be able to prevent or dodge them. He’s always hated restraint.  


“Neil,” Andrew confirms as he slides off his horse, grabs a hold of the reins and walks closer to the Sorcerer. “Must have been a long time. Your hair seems to be slowly losing pigment. Last I remember, your hair was black,” he remarks, wrapping the reins around the nearby fence before walking closer to him, closing the gap between them just enough for Neil to take three steps closer to close it completely.

“Oh spare me of these comments. You and I both know you liked this red,”

“It matches your eyes better,”

“It also makes me easier to find in a crowd,”

“If you want to be found, yes,” Andrew confirms, taking in the sight of Neil. He smells the same way he tastes; iron. Blood. They say blood doesn’t have a taste or a smell, but Andrew knows better than that. Anyone who had blood in their mouth at least once knows blood takes like keys, like an iron rod. His hair is red now, like deadly fire in the season of the biggest heat, untamed, ready to burn everything in its way to the ground. His cape is black, seems like velvet, which is expensive, meaning Neil has been doing well for himself, unlike Andrew, who’s been negotiating the pay for his hard work every time he came across a job. His eyes narrow as he studies Neil’s top; “Is that a corset?”

“It’s a vest,” Neil crosses his arms almost defensively. “A corset vest,”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Comfort isn’t my priority.”

“How many birds had to die for those feathers around your neck?”

“Witcher…”

“Is it easy to take off?” Andrew inquires, face a stone but his eyes are dancing with fire, daring it to burn him.

“It’s easier to undo than it is to tear it apart,” There’s bark behind that sentence but no bite, with Neil knowing full well Andrew remembers his surprised and heated expression the last time the Witcher tore his shirt off him.

“Good to know,” Andrew remarks innocently.

“I see life continues to treat you like shit. What’s the last time you had a bath?”

“Don’t start,”

“You reek of…” Neil thinks, tilts his head as Andrew points a finger at him.

“We’ve agreed you wouldn’t -”

“Drowners? Really? Does excitement not entice you anymore?”

“Go fuck yourself, Sorcerer,”

Another bark. Still no bite.

Neil grins this time, showing those perfect white teeth. For a second, Andrew wonders if this is a dream but remembers the man in front of him is a pipe dream incarnate so he might as well consider this a reality. “Where’s Nicholas?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you,”

Neil takes a step closer, but not an inch more. Two steps left. “Humor me,”

“Germania,”

“…you’ve parted ways then,”

“It was time,” Andrew looks to the side, clearly not enthusiastic about the change, but also not wanting to stick to this topic of conversation.

Neil worries. And when Neil worries, Neil gets a bit obnoxious.

“Who’s watching your back?”

“Who watched it before?” When Neil gives him an unsatisfied look, Andrew answers truthfully. “Roach,”

Roach, the mighty steed, as if on cue, neighs to confirm, but barely even looks at the two of them. Neil narrows his eyes at the horse, then back at Andrew. “I’d bet the price of my coat that you’ve enchanted that animal,”

“I wouldn’t take that coat from you. What else would shield you from the freezing cold and vile onlookers?” He motions at the slits on Neil’s trousers, and the… fishnet stockings wrapped around his toned, tan thighs. 

“You’d sooner slit my throat than take this coat off me,”

“Fair enough,” Andrew hums, taking a step closer, leaving limited space between them. “I’d slice your throat open and then take that coat,”

“Empty threats,”

Before Neil can finish the last letter on his lips, Andrew’s closing the gap, holding a blade of a small wristband knife to his throat. Neil’s always found it very impressive, the speed with which Andrew attacks with those little knives of his, considering that he’s always wearing gauntlets in battle and on the road. He gives Andrew a sharp grin, leaning into the blade just a bit more.

“Take that coat off,” Andrew commands with no heat behind it.

“Take it off yourself, White Wolf,”

Andrew doesn’t need to be told twice.

His other hand reaches to untangle the soft but thick laces from around Neil’s neck as they continue to stare each other in the eyes, feeling the heat off one another. The cape drops on the grass but Neil doesn’t move to retaliate. He waits, curious. “Well? Happy? It’s covered in grass now. I’ll drown it and you in the nearest river, wash you out both at the same time,”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s an unfortunate villager who’d happily do it for you,”

“No, Andrew, I want to take personal pleasure in watching you disappear underwater. Tell me,” Neil says as he snatches the blade from Andrew within the blink of an eye, too fast for the Witcher’s senses, which pointed to it being either an illusion or a spell. He twirls the blade around, moving a step to his left to walk clockwise around him. “How is it that every time you and I cross paths, I end up having to fix whatever it is I’m wearing?”

“Maybe the durability of your clothes isn’t worth its price,” Andrew grunts, standing still, waiting for Neil to come back around.

Neil does, shortly after, tucks the knife into the slit of his pants, under his stocking. “Maybe,”

“I’m going to need that back,” the Witcher remarks, pointing at the knife snug against Neil’s bare skin.

“Come and take it,”

“I don’t want to fight you, Neil,”

“Who said anything about fighting?” The Sorcerer shrugs, then elegantly floats down onto his cape, supporting himself on his elbows. One of his knees stays bent and the slit of his trousers falls off, providing no coverage but a full view of the black, fishnet stocking.

Andrew takes his gauntlets off, tosses them on the grass beside the cape. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he complains before joining Neil on the cape, laying on top of him and tracing his thigh with his palm as his lips appreciate the soft skin of his neck.

Neil gasps, tilting his head back to provide full access to his throat. “Don’t be dramatic. But - tell me before you want to take my corset off. I don’t want you ruining it,”

“Stay quiet,” Andrew suggests, kissing his way up his jaw to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m serious, you ruin that corset and -”

Before Neil can finish, Andrew’s tongue slips into his mouth, taking away all the worries of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two bros chillin in a hot tub, five feet apart cause they're not gay!

Nicky stumbles through the bushes in yesterday’s clothes, greeted with Roach’s neigh, which must alert Andrew of his presence. He pats the horse’s neck as he continues making his way past, watching the witcher throw a fishnet into the river as he closes.

“Andrew! Andrew!!” Nicky yells, winces, as he’s forgotten that he's very hungover, and speaks quieter the closer he comes. “I have arrived safely to your side. I’m well, thank you for asking. I did fall out of this farmer’s son’s window but all my bones are intact and everything is swell. I bet you were worried about me, seeing as we’re great friends,”

At that, Andrew throws the fishnet into the river, starts pulling it back immediately after. “We’re not,”

Nicky takes a beat, then continues. “You’re right. We’re as if cousins! Now, what are you doing exactly? Fishing? What are we eating? I’m starving. I didn’t know you could fish,” Andrew stays silent as the bard speaks, pulls out the net and finds nothing in it, so he moves further to the side along the river’s edge, and throws it back in.

Nicholas watches, hands on his hips. “It looks like you don’t know how to fish from where I’m standing,”

“I’m not fishing. I’m trying to find a djinn,”

“A djinn? That’s just old folk gossip, Andrew! You don’t just rub a vase and get three wishes. If you’re lucky, you get one! And that depends on the vase. Well, the owner of it,”

Andrew growls, throws a look full of a dozen daggers Nicky’s way, then returns to his search.

“I shall now entertain you with the stories of the past days! I went to the bar, saw the most beautiful - well, one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen in my life. Long, thick, black hair, broad shoulders, thick thighs. That was one blessed man, I tell you. We drank beer, had a chat. He was melting as we spoke! Eventually, he took my hand and led me to his house. I sang for him in his bedroom while he got naked for me and I stayed on pitch, Andrew, I tell you! That’s very difficult, considering how distracted I was at that time. He undressed me and - holy shit, that’s a djinn in a bottle,”

Andrew untangles the bottle from his net, eyes the seal on the top, on the lid of the ceramic looking, old-yellow bottle. As he tries to remember which wizard uses that kind of seal, Nicky reaches over to try and grab it out of his hands. Andrew, not surprised, just annoyed, keeps a hold of the top as he gives a warning look to his bard. “Nicholas, let it go,”

“Are you joking? What on earth could you wish for from a djinn?! I need this more than you!”

“Nicky,”

“I want my djinn. Leave it. Drop it. Andrew. I would pay you money if I had any for this. Let go! I deserve those wishes, I’m a mere poor human who just wants love!”

As Nicky finishes his sentence, the two tug at the bottle hard enough to break the seal. Nicky’s left with the bottle as Andrew’s left holding the lid. “Ha!” the bard calls out victoriously, taking several steps back from Andrew to avoid being strangled.

“Dear Djinn! I am Nicholas and I am your master now! My first wish is as follows,” he clears his throat. “May the beautiful Lord Henrick’s lovely harp of a wife come down with the worst case of pox and  _ die _ ,”

“Nicky,” Andrew warns, noticing the wind picking up and a dark cloudy mist forming on top of the river, heading from the opposite bank towards them.

“Wish number two! I want Seth Gordon to burn alive in a festival fire and die laying down with his burned naked arse in the air. Number three!”

That’s when Andrew grabs Nicky by his collar and pulls him away from the river, growling his name. Nicky yelps out a question, eager to say his third wish, and Andrew points at the river. “I need you to shut up. Look at the mist. Can’t you feel the wind?”

As if on cue, the wind picks up. Andrew shields his eyes from the dirt being thrown in their face and Nicky mimicks. It doesn’t last for a long time, but when it grows quiet, Andrew becomes suspicious. Soon enough, he realizes Nicky beside him has dropped the djinn’s bottle in order to grab at his throat, which has grown a tumor the size of Roach’s hoof within seconds. 

“Andrew!” Nicky snickers, coughing up blood, struggling to breathe.

“That’s what you get for playing with a djinn,” Andrew snickers back, though he’s aware of the severity of the situation. He shoves the bard by the shoulder towards the horse, pocketing the seal as he does.

The witcher doesn’t hesitate to make his horse run faster than the wind, feeling Nicholas growing weaker by the second.

* * *

When they arrive to the castle’s gates, the guard holds up a hand, growling at him with a deep northern accent, as if he was family with dwarves. “Oi! You got a pass?”

“No,” Andrew scowls slightly. “I won’t stay long. I just need to see a sorcerer and then I’ll be on my way out,”

“Can’t do, witcher. Everyone needs a pass,”

“I don’t have time to fuck with a pass,”

“Don’t gots to be rude, this just my job. Don’t got many of them w’zards here either. Not after the King set a massive tax for all things magic in all of Rinde. Your best bet would be a two day ride from here if you stop for sleep at night,”

“I don’t have that much time,”

“There’s an Elven fort just a short ride from here, towards the west. They got a healer, might be able to help you,”

Andrew grunts in response, turns Roach around and sets on his way towards the Elven fort, which turns out to be just a camp of 15 elves and halflings, who were more welcoming than the guard when they spotted Nicky’s second head on his neck. They make way for them, pointing towards the direction of the healer’s tent. Upon arrival, Andrew slides off his horse, helps a wheezing Nicky to his feet and drags him into the tent that the healer ushers him into.

“My, what happened to him?”

“A djinn,”

At that, the healer gives Andrew a skeptical look before checking Nicky’s throat. “The one of old women’s gossip? Who are you to say so?”

“Andrew of Palmetto,”

“Ah, witcher. I wouldn’t have believed djinns are real,”

“That’s not the first time I’m hearing that. And your name?”

“Chireadan,”

  
“I see the Elven tradition of old names won’t let go,” Andrew crosses his arms, watching Chireadan give him a tired look.

“Said Andrew of Palmetto. Show me a more boring name. Bland. Like your hair,”

“At least my ears don’t stick out like two big bats,”

“See? Boring. Bland,” Chireadan shrugs, sticks a finger into Nicky’s mouth and slides it along the gums of his teeth, checking his throat. “This is indeed of magical nature, witcher. You’ll need help of a sorcerer. It’s affected his throat, his larynx. If this doesn’t get cured soon, he might lose his voice,”

Nicky, panicking, eyes wide, tries to grab onto Andrew to let him know he’s very unhappy with the odds of that.

Andrew swats Nicky’s hand away but lays his palm flat on Nicky’s back. “Yeah. We won’t let that happen,”

“There’s a sorcerer… in the castle nearby. But be careful, witcher. He’s very dangerous. He’s made many enemies in the city, and not just because of not paying the king’s taxes,”

“A risk I’m willing to take. What’s his name?”

“Neil of Baltimore,”

Andrew nods. “They wouldn’t let me through the gates without a pass. Is there another way?”

“If you try going from the southeast entrance around midnight, the guard there might let you through with a bit of coin. Coin seems to solve everything for those people,”

“Mhm… thank you for your help, Chireadan. How may I repay you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Andrew. To deny help to a man this close to death would be a bad weight on the soul. Sit with us until night comes, we can eat and drink,”

“Wouldn’t say no to that, my friend,”

* * *

Sneaking past the guard that was too focused on the pouch with the coins inside before it hit him in the temple was noticeably easy. Chireadan explained which streets to cross in order to find the sorcerer and so Andrew’s on his way, covered by the safety blanket of the night, with Nicky clinging to him weaker and weaker by the second, Roach carrying them both as quietly as possible.

When they reach the place, it doesn’t look like much from the outside. He ties Roach to the fence, wraps an arm around Nicky and helps drag him inside. Nicky stumbles over the tall steps and Andrew’s forced to push him towards the chair as he closes the door, not to alarm people outside as they already uncovered their location to those inside. Andrew’s hand shifts to grip the hilt of his regular sword as someone comes down the stairs, someone of heavy weight.

Nicky’s nervous but quiet, eyes going from Andrew to the door frantically.

A man, naked as the day he was born, stumbles from the door directly to the table. Andrew narrows his eyes but the man shows no signs of alarm by seeing strangers in his house. “...apple juice… he’s asking for apple juice. Where is it?” the man asks, looking around, laughs. “He wants apple juice,” he repeats, scratching his bald head.

Andrew realizes the man’s charmed and lets his hands drop to his sides. “Who wants the juice? The sorcerer?”

“The Devil,” the man whispers before sliding down on the floor with a loud snore.

Nicky looks just a bit more confused than Andrew feels, then looks towards him only to see Andrew grabbing a big jug of, presumably, apple juice, then grabbing Nicky’s collar and dragging him upstairs.

Andrew doesn’t look concerned about the mist surrounding them so Nicky too tries to look unbothered.

A fair number of steps later, Andrew pulls Nicky down a long corridor towards the only door through which a light peeks through. He knocks politely, then slips inside and pushes Nicky, yet again, onto another chair.

There’s only one other man in the room; no doubt the sorcerer.

When he turns around, Andrew’s met with the most blue piercing eyes he’s ever seen in his life, and he’s grinned death in the face several times. It freezes him to the bone.   
The sorcerer’s hair is the brown of the bark of a healthy tree, his face sharp around the jaw and cheekbones. He’s shorter than most but taller than Andrew, even if it’s only by little. His clothes seem expensive and his shoes even more so. They’re slightly heeled, but nothing like the way women wear these days. He’s dressed in all black with what seems like a red line of small rubies tracing down the sleeve from where his shoulders meet his neck down his arms to his wrists, over some mesh material that’s meant to represent a shirt. He’s wearing gloves, leather and slim, nothing like Andrew’s gauntlets. He’s well built, not too skinny or muscular, just enough to hold up in a regular fight on the street as a human. The belt around his hips is a fashionable finish to the appearance. 

He looks more delicate than Andrew has ever seen a sorcerer look, which only gives him more reason to worry just how powerful this one might be.

There’s a black choker around his neck, off which dangles another bright red ruby, big enough just to almost poke the space between his two protruding collar bones.

Pretty.

That’s the word people would use when looking at him.  
Andrew would use a different one.   
  


They’re left staring at each other for several seconds before Andrew lifts the jug. 

“I have the apple juice,”

“And where’s the busboy I asked it from?” the sorcerer asks as he moves to his feet from the bed with silk sheets and walks from the end of the room.

“Asleep on the floor downstairs,”

“How unfortunate. What brings you past my doorstep right to my room uninvited?” he asks, holding his chin high as he stops at a fair distance from Andrew, surely for his own protection.

“I need help and I can pay,” Andrew asks, stepping aside to look at Nicky, who’s trying to wheeze as quietly as he can in the back, raising a hand to give the sorcerer a wave. “A djinn tried to strangle him,”

“...that indeed needs my help and I would need the seal of the djinn’s bottle to cure him, which I don't doubt you have... But money's not interesting enough to me,” Neil hums as he eyes Andrew head to toe. “Unless you tell me your story, witcher,”

“Heal him. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know,”

“And that you will,” the sorcerer. “Your name?”

“Andrew of Palmetto,”

Neil nods in confirmation to his suspicion of the White Wolf himself setting foot into his humble home, and heads towards the door. “Bring your friend to the guestroom. I’ll work on healing him while you take a much needed bath,”

Andrew sets the jug down, goes to grab Nicky with a slight roll of his eye. He can’t stink  _ that _ much. “I’m sure it’s not that bad,”

“Witcher,” Neil warns, “I can tell you not only the breed and age of your horse, but also its color, by the smell,”

Fair enough.

* * *

Andrew’s shed all of his clothes, even his armbands, which he wore with sentiment more than he did for protection or warmth, sitting contently in the bath. He has to admit the place has a charm to itself, considering its dull look on the outside. It's nice and warm, which could be considered a luxury in Andrew's way of life, as there were some inns here and there where they either wouldn't let him stay or cast him out because he had nothing to pay with. By now, the steam is covering all of the windows as Andrew enjoys the hot water, trying to relax the sore muscles on his lower back. He sits there for a while before Neil joins him, closes the bathroom door behind him.

“He’ll be alright. He’s asleep and healing now,”

Andrew glances at Neil, taking him in. He sees something is off, something he's noticed before but didn't have time to fully explore... a hint of scarred flesh on Neil’s arms, hands, on his face. It’s there, just beneath the surface of the smooth, supple skin, gone the second Andrew blinks and he has to focus hard to find them again. Even though his hair is brown, Andrew can also see a thick coat of red beneath.

He knows sorcerers undergo a transition when they come to their full power but he hasn’t found himself noticing what those changes covered before. 

“Thank you,”

“Now, I believe there are some answers you owe me,” he says as he moves to untie his shirt, lacing it off before pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. His body is toned, even, perfect. Unreal.

“Ask away,” Andrew says as he looks away in an attempt to give the sorcerer some privacy, or so he likes to tell himself. 

“The big scar on your left shoulder,”

“Werewolf in Vizima,”

“The one under your left breast?”

“Shtriga,”

Neil snorts, right behind him. “Right for the heart,”

“She knew what she was doing,” Andrew replies just as Neil slides into the bath beside him, then shifts to be opposite of him. 

“Now, my real question. As much as monsters fascinate me, I’m sure you could talk about them for hours and I’d hang on your every word, there’s something more interesting about you than bites and scratches from people and things trying to kill you,”

Andrew has a feeling about this question already, but he goes along. “And what would that be?”

“Why do they call you the Butcher of Blaviken?”

“I butchered in Blaviken,”

Neil gives him a tired look and Andrew admits it feels good to be on the other side of this feeling for once. Usually, it’s him who wishes he lived for about 30 years before passing of old age.

“There’s a side to every story. And I know how much peasants like to twist two and two to make it a five. Word to mouth, and the world grows stupid,” Neil says, glancing at the ceiling, letting the warmth engulf him.

Andrew hums in agreement. After such a long time with Nicky by his side, it feels nice talking to someone who understands him and the weight of age on his shoulders (and hopefully doesn’t seem to want to kill him after they’re done chatting). “It was a trap,” he says, just to bring Neil’s attention back to him, for reasons unknown to himself. 

“No doubt to do something with your… neutrality,”

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“If the people called you a Butcher, you slayed _people_. Not monsters. And as far as I know, that’s not exactly your line of work. Otherwise there would be armies of you,”

“One person wanted to kill the other. I didn’t want to get involved. But when one of them put the people of the city in danger in order to lure out the other, who wouldn’t go, I couldn’t let them burn the people alive during the city’s busiest day,”

“Doesn’t sound neutral to me,”

“I never said I was,” Andrew points out, then carries on. “I told her to leave the people alone. When she didn’t intend to, I killed her. And her band of misfits,”

Neil nods, seeing the story for what it really is. “And the people accused you of murdering their own,” he smiles, dark and wicked, like his hope in humanity was on a very thin string which was about to snap at any moment.

“They even threw stones at me,” Andrew adds, which makes Neil break out into a full laugh. It feels nice; yet, Andrew feels something brewing deep in his gut.

* * *

Neil provides clothes for Andrew, which are maybe (intentionally?) just a little too tight, black and leathery but nothing like his regular armor. Andrew heads to the bedroom where Nicky lays, looking much better than before. The color's returned to his face and he seems to be dreaming of someone very handsome and naked.  
He leans against the door frame, scowling despite Nicky's better health, arms crossed. He wants to sneer at something. He wants to hit something, he wants to take revenge upon the creature that caused this whole ordeal, but he knows that all he needs to do to see it is look in the mirror to find the true monster behind all this.

Neil sneaks up behind him without Andrew noticing, which is indeed impressive. “Do you doubt my capabilities?” he asks, sounding just slightly offended.

Andrew doesn’t hesitate to answer. “No. It’s just that he’s…”

“A friend? Family?” Neil asks, sliding past Andrew into the room.

Andrew’s response is a grunt, which Neil most definitely counts as a confirmation, but that’s his business. Andrew drops his arms to his sides, gaze shifting from a soundly asleep Nicky to a fully dressed Neil, choker and all. “So how will it work?”

“Once he’s healed enough, I’ll wake him up, he’ll say his last wish and I’ll capture the djinn,”

Andrew slightly scowls. “Capture?”

“Yes,” Neil confirms, pushing off a rug to the side to reveal a sign drawn on the floor in black paint, surely a summoning spot.

Andrew likes this situation less and less. “Capturing a djinn is dangerous. It could kill you, Neil,”

“Speaking of family,” Neil continues, ignoring the last part of their conversation, as he straightens up, slowly walking towards Andrew, who’s starting to feel more and more imbalanced with each moment passing. Something’s not right. “You’re not from Palmetto. Your accent is impressive but it’s not real. Why lie?”

“Witchers come from Kaer Mohren anyway,”

“Your brother didn’t,” Neil says just as Andrew’s breath gets stuck in his chest.

Something is very wrong.

_ Fuck. _

“Neil,” Andrew warns as Neil moves over to press a finger against Andrew’s lips, who’s set motionless by the spell that Neil’s no wonder been cracking on him since he stepped into the house.

“Andrew. Your Quen is very impressive but it wouldn’t last forever. I had to distract you just long enough to crack it,” Neil says, drags his finger down Andrew’s lower lip, chin and his neck. He stops when it reaches his chest. “I need you to do something for me that you undoubtedly wouldn’t agree to. Take it as payment for helping your friend,”

With that, the witcher's eyes roll back in his head and the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall's response was so good I summoned satan and he agreed to help me write this chapter for the little price of my soul
> 
> worth it

**Author's Note:**

> i will literally do a blood sacrifice for satan if anyone discusses this AU with me


End file.
